


Laid

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes it best like this: when Merlin doesn't ask and doesn't beg, only acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt _Arthur/Merlin, making the bedframe or headboard collapse/break_.

They quarrel the whole way to Arthur's rooms; from the tiltyard to the courtyard, from the throne room to the corridors, voices low and tense. Bickering because they can't touch, and barbed words and pointed insults have to serve in place of rough, wandering mouths and hands. Merlin slams the door behind them so hard it might splinter and his jaw is set firm and intractable. The tension that's clipped Arthur's words, that's kept his hands clenched and away from Merlin, diffuses under his skin and crawls along his nerves.

Now, with just the two of them and the echo of arguments vibrating between them, Arthur could reach up and finger the edge of Merlin's lips or tug his neckerchief aside to reveal the ridge of his collarbones.

And yet, although they're finally alone, they don't kiss, don't touch, don’t murmur half-whispered terms of endearment. They don't even undress; they just push their clothing out of the way, yanking down breeches and rucking up tunics.

Arthur stops two paces from the bed, says, "Merlin," in that tone of voice he knows will make the muscles in Merlin's jaw tighten up another notch, and smiles.

Merlin shoves Arthur down onto the bed and doesn’t wait for Arthur to catch his breath before settling between Arthur's legs. The afternoon sun sifts through half-shuttered windows and the blue in Merlin's eyes is deep, dark, flecked with gold and lust. He's gentle for a moment: nudges one of Arthur's legs up, fingers his arsehole until Arthur's forcing himself down against Merlin's touch, takes his fingers away to spill oil all over the place until they're both half-covered in it and the shiny, slick liquid mixes with sweat to stain the sheets and their clothes.

"Oh, god, you can't—" Arthur presses his body up off the mattress, trying to reach Merlin's touch, and only feels the oil run down his cock and trickle warm and teasing between his thighs.  

"Can't what? What?" The tips of Merlin's fingers follow the trail of oil. "You're already… fucking, god, Arthur."

Already hard, yes, hard and needy and wanting more than just the brush of Merlin's fingers against him. Their bodies skid against each other, oil, sweat, and skin, and Arthur reaches down to palm his cock, grinding against his hand and grinding down against the finger Merlin pushes back inside him.

"Can't make me wait," Arthur mutters, hoarse, and gasps at the feel of another long, slim finger crooking, stroking, pressing inside.

"Won't. Not when you're like this. You, wrecked."

Arthur sees the damp curl of Merlin's hair at his temple, the flush that blooms over his skin, the rawness in his eyes and in the rasp of his breath, and thinks, no, _you_.

But then there's the heat that blooms under Arthur's skin, as hot as racing fire, as slick as sweet, light oil, and Merlin's fingers twist the sensation as Arthur's body twists around them. He's got Arthur slick and stretched, but it burns like fire under his skin once more when Merlin gives up teasing for thrusting.

He likes it best like this: when Merlin doesn't ask and doesn't beg, only acts; when he tracks Arthur's breath and uses that inimitable bodily knowledge that only Merlin has, that only Merlin will ever have; when he's gentle for those few moments at the start, and then maybe a few more when they finish, but for the rest of their time in bed, he fucks Arthur hard and fast, and not without care.

One long, deep thrust into Arthur, and Merlin's eyes shut against the low groan that rises from the very back of his throat. His hands, slippery with oil, can't hold Arthur down, and they move with a rough, jagged rhythm that knocks the headboard against the wall. The sound sends a thrill through Arthur and though he shouldn't like this – he should be worried people can hear, that the noise reverberates through empty hallways, and that half the court knows why the crown prince won't be dining in the main hall tonight – he does.

The world narrows down to hot, desperate frustration, constricts itself to tiny, pinpoints of feeling: the hardness of his own cock, the drip of sweat down the back of his neck, the warmth of Merlin's skin, his shoulder sharp under the leg Arthur has slung over him, Merlin's fingers oil-slick and clever as they move over Arthur's cock.

Merlin pulls out halfway, ignoring the hiss that Arthur gives, and the world narrows down even further. Arthur's ready to start shouting nonsense and frustration at Merlin lest he die of yearning when, with sudden violence, he is _full_. Filled so completely that he can feel the force of Merlin slamming into him at the back of his teeth; filled so completely that the world is both narrow and still, frozen for a second. Arthur catches the light in Merlin's eyes once more, still gold, now dangerous, like he could see the world wrecked and brought down around the two of them.

Only later, only after the snapping of ropes and the shattering of wood, after the collapse of the mattress against the stone floor and the rise of the dust cloud above it, his blood still pounding loud and hard in his veins, all the air slammed out of his lungs, Merlin still buried deep inside him, does Arthur realize the crash happened around as well as within him.


End file.
